My Souℓ to Take
by F 0 R E V E R M 0 R E
Summary: Viola is a special woman with special needs. She is constantly under the watchful eye of mysterious company, and it isn't because she's blind. Charles is captivated by everything that is Viola Sheffield, and he is willing to take on her complicated life and tragic past in order to soothe the strange ache whenever she isn't near. Charles/OC. Repost and Revised edition.
1. The Hand That Feeds

**My Souℓ to Take**  
_An X-MEN: First Class (2011) Fanfiction_

_My Souℓ to Take © F0REVERM0RE _  
_X-MEN: First Class © Marvel Studios_

* * *

**Chapter One:**  
**_The Hand That Feeds_**

"_According to Greek Mythology, humans were originally created with four arms, four legs and a head with two faces. Fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate beings, condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other halves."_

_― __Plato__, _The Symposium

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Please forgive me. Please. I didn't know, I didn't know."

Ignoring the man's pleas for mercy, a woman seated on a brown leather armchair simply crosses her legs, hooking her ankles, and neatly places her hands on her lap one over the other. She does not want to hear his excuses or begs. All she wants are answers to her questions before she gives the order for action.

When she received the news of what had taken place in Oxford, she was livid. Absolutely livid; always is whenever she hears about the death of a child (especially one that could have been avoided). Children are a touchy subject for her. Children and families in general.

"That is exactly the point," she replies, monotone. "You. Did. Not. Know. As head of this sector, you should have known! Three humans; one of them was a child! How did a newborn become under your watch without the proper authorization?"

The man shakes his head, listless. "I don't know."

"Where did she come from?"

"I don't know."

"Who is her sire?" the woman continues to press.

"I don't know!" he shouts desperately.

"Why are you talking as if I'm not here. Who the hell are you?"

The attention in the room veers towards a young woman whom is next to the man being interrogated. However, the woman doing the questioning does not bat an eye, nor does she spare her a glance, yet she can see the younger woman perfectly: the honey blonde hair, the alluring baby blue eyes, cute button nose, and full pink lips. All that is expected from a blood sucking immortal—perfection. (Physically, of course.)

"And that, my dear, is why you are unfit to keep such a gift as immortality. Did you honestly think that you could morph into one of us so easily? There is protocol to go through, lessons to learn before infection. Which means your sire broke the rules, and I want to know who they are."

"What's a sire?"

Pursing her lips, the woman clenches her teeth. She could get all the answers she wants with a simple push of the mind, but she rather likes the old fashion way of retrieving information. With this method, word spreads, and both fear and respect returns. But it does not mean she likes to be so openly defied.

"The one who changed you; bit you. Who?" she demands.

"Why should I tell you? You're just going to do the same to him as you're doing me," the young woman sneers. Hm, well she is not wrong.

Uncrossing her legs, the woman fluidly rises to stand. "Niles, call for a gathering. I want every single immortal within the sector—including the surrounding areas—here. Send scouts to double check. Those who try to hide, bring them straight to me. I want the immortal who is responsible for this..." while speaking, she calmly strolls up to the newborn and trails the tip of her perfectly manicured nail down her cheek, "...disgrace. And apparently, the sire is a male. That should narrow down the list of suspects," she makes sure to add to her second-in-commandso the young woman can hear.

An older gentleman steps forward from his place beside the armchair the woman was seated in, his footsteps can be heard against the hardwood floor. "Straight away, your grace."

A smug smirk curves the left corner of the woman's lips when she notices the newborn gape up at her upon Niles' preference of name.

"I was told there was a survivor. The father, Marshal Carter. Where is he?" the woman directs over her shoulder toward her second in command.

"Currently in critical condition at the emergency room the last time I checked, your grace," Niles answers.

"Alive, though, correct?"

"Yes."

"I want to pay him a visit while you are organizing the gathering."

"Yes, your grace. I will call for..."

"There is no need," she interrupts. "I wish to be left alone with him. There is much to be discussed, explained, and I am sure that one immortal in his presence is more than enough for him to bare at the moment."

"You want to be left alone?" Niles' tone just noticeably rises an octave, his surprise is evident by the woman's command. She has never before issued the order to be left willingly blind, without a set of eyes.

"I think I can take care of myself for an hour or two."

"You're doing it again," the newborn growls.

"Right," the woman hums, pursing her lips tight.

"Quite woman. Just. Shut. Up," the man next to the newborn barks.

"He is a clever man. I mean, he was not made head merely for his pretty face. Perhaps it is in your best intention to listen to him."

"He's not the boss of me, and neither are you," the young woman spitefully remarks, glaring up at the woman.

"That is where you are wrong, my dear." The woman bends over and leans in close, whispering tauntingly in the blonde's ear, "I am the boss of _everybody__._"

"What of, Mr. Collins, your grace?" Niles inquires.

The woman straightens her posture, tilting her head in the general direction of one of the men to blame for her personal involvement of the situation here in Oxford, Mr. Jonathon Collins. He was a good man, was one of her more loyal followers, did good work, deserved this position (at first). But his dedication faded with time; perhaps the power got to his head.

"Mr. Collins." The woman clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth. She saunters over to stand in front of Jonathon, placing her hands firmly on her hips with her legs spread apart at shoulder's length. "Unfortunately your actions cannot be excused. Shame really. You were one of my favorites. What a waste."

"Please, your grace, I didn't..."

"You have gotten sloppy, Jonathon, and do not try to deny it. I noticed the pattern, but decided to give you the benefit of the doubt for old times sake. Now look at the outcome for said faith. Imagine how that makes me look? Giving you a chance to redeem yourself without intervention." She frowns when she thinks of the answer. "Weak. And I cannot have any weaknesses Jonathon."

Growling, Jonathon shouts, "You can't do this to me! After everything I've done for you- for the family! I was one of the first to stand by your side, to believe in you! Dav..."

The woman backhands Jonathon clear across his cheek with all her might before he can finish his defense. Only his head recoils to the side in the direction of the blow. "DO NOT EVER USE HIM AS AN EXCUSE AGAINST ME!" she bellows, sure that if her blood were still pumping her entire face would be flushed with rage.

Clenching the hand that she used to hit Jonathon into a tight fist, the woman feels the tips of her fangs press against her bottom lip. She wills them to retract, squeezing her eyes shut and turning away from the source of her anger with her jaw clenched. She cannot let her anger get the best of her ability to keep control of her thrust. Especially not now that she is going to a hospital filled with potential meals, where she will be left on her own. She is better than that. Feeling Niles close in proximity, the woman uses his comforting presence to regain her composure.

"Nikolai Burkov from sector two-fifty-two-z in Russia is due for a promotion. Inform him of the sudden job opening and see if he wants to fill it," she directs to Niles. "As for, Mr. Collins, we do not need him to find the girl's sire. So burn him."

"Burn? What? No!" Jonathon tries to break free from the invisible hold that is keeping him on his knees. "You can't..."

"You cannot tell me what I can and cannot do!" the woman snarls rather unattractively. "You know what you did. You know you are at fault. Take some responsibility for your actions – or lack thereof – and die with some dignity for Christs sake."

Jonathon's shoulders sag with defeat. "You're right. I'm sorry that I failed you, your grace. I never meant..." The woman runs her fingers through his hair, lightly scraping her nails against his scalp in a soothing motion when he is unable to finish his sentence. He sighs.

Shifting over to Haley, the woman lifts the young woman's chin so that she has her full focus. "Your mind is hellbent on protecting your sire's identity; so many walls. I can take them down, burst through, but that may cause some damage to your psyche, and I want you to be fully aware of what I plan to do to you." She brushes a strand of blonde hair away from Haley's face and tucks it behind her ear. "I have always admired the sheer loyalty an immortal has for their sire. And once the others have arrived, you will not be able to resist the urge to go to him, to warn him, to protect him."

At the sight of Haley's trembling lips, the woman smiles.

"Wh-who are you?" Haley stammers.

"I am the hand that feeds; and I am pissed off."

******[·]**

"Are you sure about this, your grace?"

"Stop worrying about me, Niles. I am a big girl, I can handle myself."

"At least allow me to walk you in," he advises.

"I have learned in my lifetime that humans find it difficult to withstand the desire to ogle the different. That coupled with my devilishly appealing looks, I will be able to see fine. And if I come across any trouble, I can simply ask for assistance." Patting Niles' arm, the woman adds, "Pick me up as soon as our guests begin to arrive."

"I shall make haste," Niles replies.

"Whatever calms your needless worry."

"I made a promise to watch over you; guard you with my life."

The woman's expression turns stoic. She dislikes whenever her second-in-command brings up the subject of Him. "I know," she utters.

Niles turns the key in the ignition, turning off the engine of the newly purchased town car. He exits the car from the driver's side and heads to the back to open the door for her.

As predicted, on her first step out from the car, eyes turn in her direction: inspecting her sharply dressed driver, her shiny car, and her overall appearance of tastefully done hair and makeup, and her expensive taste in jewelry, clothes and shoes. The things she does for the gift of sight (not that she can really complain – she loves shopping).

"Thank you, Niles."

With a light squeeze of her hand, Niles is reluctant but he does leave the woman standing alone at the hospital's entrance.

Calmly strolling into the hospital's lobby, she makes her way up to the front desk with some difficulty. While there are eyes on her, her depth perception remains an issue. It is taking all her will power of keeping up appearances of looking prim and confident to not extend her arms and feel her way to the desk.

At the feel of the cool wood beneath her fingertips, signaling that she has reached her destination, she exhales slowly. This is the first time she has been without Niles or another escort, and even though this is what she commanded of, she is slightly tense.

"Hello." She smiles at the nurse stationed behind the desk. "May you tell me what room, Marshal Carter, is in? He was brought in yesterday."

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but..." When the nurse looks up to gaze at the woman, she stops speaking. The woman keeps the tight-lipped smile on her lips, she is used to such a reaction to her "condition". "...visiting hours are over," the nurse gulps. "You may come back tomorrow between the hours of noon and five. Unless you're a family member."

"I am afraid I am not. Just a concerned neighbor," the woman replies. She sighs solemnly, shaking her head. "I apologize, I did not realize that it was so late. I thought that I had more time to see him. Everyone back at home is at unease that what attacked him would come back, and most are reluctant to leave their houses."

"Yet you did." The nurse smiles widely. The woman smiles in return.

_Got you_.

Humans are always suckers for a good sob story, or are quick to offer aid when feeling pity toward another being. The woman finds it both amusing and quite entertaining to play with mortal's emotions, manipulating them to her will is easy, and she does not even have to use her abilities to do so.

"Though not related by blood, he is like family to me. Mr. and Mrs. Cater have... _had_... always been so kind to me." Her smile turns into a slight frown. "I suppose I will just have to come back tomorrow. Will you please direct me to the nearest phone so I may call for a ride home. My driver is not due to reach the house until at least another hour."

"Oh... well, perhaps I can make an exception in visitation rights for Mr. Carter's _niece_," the nurse cleverly offers.

The woman smiles brightly, making sure to reveal her perfectly straight and white teeth. "Would you really do that for me? You are too kind."

"Mr. Carter is on the third floor in room 319. Would you like for someone to escort you up?"

"That will be lovely."

After being issued an identification card reading that she is a family member visiting a patient, the woman is assisted up to the third floor by a rather eager male intern who would just not stop staring. His roaming eyes are flattering at first, but when they did not stray from her bum, leaving her blind (well, more than she already is), she grows irritated.

"Visiting your uncle, Mr. Carter, huh?" he attempts to make light conversation.

"Yes," she replies, succinct, not in the mood to deal with his efforts at flirtation.

"I'm sorry about what happened to them, and about your aunt and cousin. Losing a family member, let alone two, is hard enough as it is. But to an animal attack? Must be difficult to handle." He clamps what she is assuming to be a reassuring hand on top of hers. She refrains from rolling her eyes, because he sure is laying it on thick.

"An animal attack. Is that what they are calling it?" She tries to sound sadden by her "loss", but really she is relieved. _Good__, now I do not have to send someone to the papers._

"Some kind of large dog. The coppers are trying to hunt it down before it attacks again. Although, Mr. Carter, says that it was a person who attacked his family."

Now she is interested. "Oh?"

"But it just doesn't go with the markings on the bodies. No human could do that kind of damage."

The woman does not know if she should be glad or to play the right to be irate relative that the intern is revealing to her this kind of information so freely when she is sure that it is to be confidential.

"Right; no human," she agrees. "Fear can cause all kinds of delusions. I am sure that he is just trying to make sense of what happened."

The intern hums. "Could be."

He finally looks away from her, turning his gaze to the numbers on the passing doors. They have reached Marshal's room, number 319.

"Here we are, your uncle's room."

The woman forces a smile upon her lips. "Thank you for helping me."

"Anytime. If you need anything else just ask for me, my name is Kevin."

"Will do."

Opening the door, the woman is met with complete darkness. Kevin has left, and Marshal is sleeping. She cannot see. Ignoring the near crippling anxiety building up in her chest, she licks her lips and gulps, forcing herself calm. She feels her way into the room, searching for a place to sit and get off her shaking legs. She does not like this feeling, the feeling of being helpless. Gratefully, she finds a hard wooden chair with a thin cushioned mat and plops herself down, exhaling heavily.

She takes a moment to relax, squeezing her hands open and closed, focusing her attention on the small ministration. When she deems herself collected and presentable, she puts on her business exterior. An expression stoic, borderline cold and emotionless.

With a little push of her mind, spreading it throughout the small room, she orders, "Wake up, Mr. Carter."

When Marshal's eyes open, the woman discovers that all the lights in the room are on and she scowls because all she saw was nothing, blank empty space. His eyes roam the ceiling, then to his sides at the flowers on the nightstand at his left and a pitcher and glass filled with water on his right, followed by landing on her- the one to wake him.

"Who..." he clears his throat. His voice is dry and hoarse. "Who are you?" he asks.

"You know, that is the second time someone has asked me that question. Normally I do not have to introduce myself because my identity is previously known. Then again," she leisurely shrugs, "I do not usually have cases such as yours. I like order, and when your family's death came to my attention I just had to take care of this myself; because when you want something done right, you do it yourself, as the saying goes."

"Are you some kind of detective?" he croaks. "Do you believe me? That my family was attacked by human being and not a dog. I know what I saw."

"I am not a detective, nor am I apart of the human law," the woman answers. "I am someone much more important. Someone who can actually take action against your attacker."

"How can you help me? You're blind."

"Excellent deduction," the woman sarcastically drawls. "Do you want revenge or not?"

"B-but you do believe me, right?"

She nods. "I do. And I also know exactly who killed your wife and daughter."

"Who?" he demands, then hisses in pain because of his sudden jerk in motion. "We have to inform the police! Nur..."

"Ah-ah." The woman stops Marshal from calling the nurse. She does not want any intervention. "Cannot have you involving unnecessary casualties."

"Casualties?" Marshal gulps. "Wh-who are you?"

Really getting tired of being asked that question, the woman decides to tell him seeing as how she plans on not having him know of her identity long enough to tell anyone. Fluidly rising from her seat, she strolls to stand beside Marshal's hospital bed. "My name is Viola Sheffield, and I am the head of the immortal society."

Before Marshal can scream for help, Viola places her hand on his forehead- effectively silencing his screams with a simple push of her mental prowess.

"I want you to know that I am sorry for your loss, and I am taking the proper action so that it never will happen again," she tells him softly. "The name of your attacker is Haley Bennett. She is an unauthorized newborn immortal, not properly trained in our customs. And not only will I kill her, I will kill the immortal responsible for creating her. I do not yet know his identity, but I will soon." She, much like she did with Jonathon, combs her fingers through Marshal's damp with sweat locks. "Now you can rest in piece with your family with the knowledge that they and you will be avenged."

Viola trails her hand down to Marshal's mouth and nose to cover and end his life, but she notices something odd when Marshal's frightened eyes follow her movements.

"Heh." She purses her lips. "She was more sloppy than I thought," she murmurs to herself. She releases her hold on Marshal, announcing, "You are infected."

"I-I'm what?" he stammers. Viola is surprised and impressed that he does not, again, try to call for help or call her insane. He is quite brave.

"I am assuming you tried to defend your family during the attack, correct?" Viola questions.

"Of course."

"You hit her, the attacker, did you not?" When she does not receive a verbal answer, she asks, "Did you nod?"

"Oh. Yes."

"Blind remember, sweetie. I can see through you, but not you physically."

"How is that possible?"

"Do not have the faintest idea. I was born this way."

"An... an immortal?"

"Oh heavens no." She waves dismissively. "That was courtesy of my..." Turning her head, making sure that she is at least facing him so it looks like she is gazing into his eyes, she asks, to change the subject, "Tell me, how come you have not called for help? Are you not afraid? I did just try to kill you."

"I should. I should call you crazy because there should be no such thing as an immortal, but after what I saw when... that... that thing tore up my daughter." Viola scrunches her nose and turns her head at Marshal's descriptive words and watery tone. "I know that it was no dog; it was a person. A woman. But no one believed me. Why wouldn't they believe me? I was there, I know what I saw!"

"It is because humans do not like knowing about things that are outside of their own little bubble. They fear the different, the unknown. Us. That is why we have become nothing more than a myth, scary stories to tell by a fire or to your children so that they behave."

"And you're in charge of... of whatever you are."

"Yes."

"How?"

Viola smiles solemnly. "Not important."

Marshal hesitates to ask, "Are you still going to kill me?"

"No. You can no longer die by normal standards anymore."

"And how... how do you know that I'm," he gulps, "infected."

"Because you should be dead by now. Your wounds were much more severe than what I was told, and you are healing at a rapid rate. Go ahead, take off a bandage and see for yourself."

Marshal's gaze turns away from Viola and goes down to his left arm that is bandaged from his wrist all the way up to his elbow. Dried blood soaked through the once white gauze on his forearm. Slowly he peals off the medical wrap, and where there was dried blood on the bandage, there is nothing on his skin. No mark. No scar. Not anything.

"B-but...? How?" he stammers, in shock.

"Dying is a lot less painful than what it says in story books. Well, in our case anyway," Viola explains. "It is more like a tingling sensation, followed by a numbness. It is not until the infection reaches the brain that it gets _slightly_ uncomfortable. You see, when the brain realizes that the body is dying, in a last attempt to save itself it sends a jolt of electricity throughout the nervous system, effectively bringing back movement and feeling to the body. The only thing that remains dead... is the heart."

"But that is not possible. You need the heart to pump..." When Marshal trails off, Viola then learns how smart this man really is. Again, she is impressed. "You're a vampire."

"Oh I do hate that usage." Viola clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth.

"You need human blood to survive because you can't produce your own. My family- my wife, my daughter!"

"Stop," Viola snaps, making Marshal halt in his accusations. "What happened to your family is unfortunate, yes, but that is not how we work. Not anymore. We do not kill; we take what we need and leave the human alive and none the wiser to our existence. Why do you think I plan on executing your attacker? She broke the rules."

Marshal grunts, throwing himself back onto his bed. His gaze focuses intensely on the ceiling. "What are you going to do to me now?"

"Hm," Viola muses, humming. "I think I am going to allow this."

His eyes are back on her like the snap of the fingers. "What?"

"I suppose you can live long enough to see the execution of the immortal whom did this to you. Lets just hope that your need for revenge outweighs the urge to protect your sire."

"Sire?"

"The one who created you."

"The one who killed my wife and daughter? This, Haley Bennett."

"Correct."

"I don't think that will be a problem," Marshal scoffs.

"I would not be so sure about that, Mr. Carter. The bond between sire and creation is strong, much like a bond between a mother and a newborn child."

"I don't think _you_ understand me, Miss Sheffield. I want her dead," he states in an eerily calm voice.

"Good." Viola smirks. "And by the way, it is Mrs."

"Mrs?" Marshal's tone is laced with mild surprise. Viola smiles weakly and nods. He seems to know the meaning behind her lack of response, and he says, "Ah." and nothing more, which she is grateful for. She does not like to talk much about her late husband.

"After Haley is dead, then you'll kill me?"

"And then I will kill you." She nods. "Unless you can prove to me you are worth keeping alive before then."

Taking her manicured nail, Viola presses deeply into her wrist and makes a small incision. A line of blood pools to the surface of her skin, and she extends her wrist out and above Marshal's mouth. "Drink," she commands.

"What?" he asked, panicked.

"This will help your healing process faster and curve your apatite. I do not need you going on a killing spree so soon after your attack; I have already been made a fool of once," she remarks. "I need you well enough for discharge tomorrow so I can take you home. Drink. I do not have all night, my second-in-command should be here any minute now."

Marshal is hesitant, but eventually he does take Viola's extended forearm in his trembling hands. "This is insane," he whispers more to himself than to her. He opens his mouth and drinks.

Viola has never given her blood to another immortal before, she has never infected anyone else (she is almost like royalty in her society, and her blood cannot simply be given to another); this is her first time, and it is quite liberating. And for a brief moment, she considers breaking the promise she made to herself about never changing someone and thinks about creating a newborn for herself. She has always wanted a baby, a child...

...a family.

"He is still alive," Niles says from the doorway.

"He has been infected. We cannot kill him here," Viola replies.

"I assume that we are coming back."

Viola nods. "He should be discharged tomorrow. We will bring him home with us. I promised that he will be able to see Haley's death before his own."

"That is if you plan on eliminating him," Niles notes.

The corner of Viola's lips rise. "You know me so well, Niles."

"May I ask: What makes him so special, your grace?"

"He was not scared," she answers cryptically.

Niles is silent for a moment before he asks, "Shall we get going? The guests have begun arriving."

She holds out a hand for Niles to take. "Yes; we must not keep them waiting. I wish to know whom caused this tragedy."

Niles comes to Viola, and he assists her in going down to the main floor. While passing through the lobby, Viola makes sure to bid the front desk nurse – whose name turns out to be Marie – goodbye and thank you. She ignores Kevin all together, pretending to not hear his call when Niles helps her into the back of the town car.

On the way to Jonathon's home (soon to be Nikolai's if he chooses to accept the position), Viola asks a question that has been bugging her since she arrived in Oxford. "Niles, am I a good leader?"

"Of course you are, your grace."

"Then why did this happen? Jonathon; the unknown sire; Haley. Do you think that I was wrong when I issued the law to never kill mortals?" she wonders. She has good reason in creating the law, but what will happen once the other immortals learn of this incident? Will they consider it her fault because the law was a bad idea in the first place? Killing humans off for food was a long tradition for the immortals before she took power and changed it. Or will they take it as a spark to go ahead on killing humans, again?

"You saved many lives by doing so, your grace. Human weaponry have advanced since the olden days; ones that can kill us if we were to be discovered."

Viola's lips form a thin line. "Perhaps you are right."

"You are our beacon of strength, your grace. Do not let anyone know of this doubt, it could be fatal," Niles warns.

"You mean not to let any of my enemies know," she reads the hidden meaning between Niles' words. "Even after all my years in rule, they are still skeptical of my handle simply because I am a woman."

"You have proven them wrong thus far, your grace. Do not stop now."

"I do not plan to. Merely a question, Niles. My mistake," she says lowly. "How is Jonathon?"

"Severed and burned the head first, just like you asked, your grace."

Viola's heart feels heavy. "He may have done wrong, but he does not need to suffer more because of it. He deserved a quick death despite his mistake. And what of Nikolai?"

"He will fill the position with great honor. He should arrive in the country as early as tomorrow; within the city in two days."

"Good. We are one step closer to fixing this mess."

******[·]**

"You're back." Marie smiles at Viola. "And during the correct visitation hours, too," she lightly teases.

"Yes, well I heard from, Mr. Carter, that he is getting discharged today. He asked me to take him home," Viola responds kindly. She likes Marie, the young nurse gives off a good and cheery vibe.

"Well that's kind of you. Do you need an escort, again? Kevin has been going on and on about you since last night."

Viola smiles, gesturing to Niles who is standing patiently behind her. "That is not necessary, but thank you or offering. I have my friend with me. He will be my eyes today."

"Alright-y then. Mr. Carter is in the same room as last night, so you two can just go on right up."

"Thank you, Marie. It has been a pleasure in meeting you," Viola says to the nurse.

"Same to you, Miss... Uh." She laughs nervously.

"Sheffield," Viola informs. "Mrs. Sheffield."

"Oh, well don't I feel silly for not asking your name the other day yet you know mine," Marie chuckles. "By the way, how do you know my name? I don't remember giving it to you."

"Kevin told me when I asked about you," Viola lies smoothly.

"Come on, Niles, Marshal is waiting for us." Viola gently tugs on Niles' arm to get him going.

"That was an interesting interaction," Niles whispers down in Viola's ear. "You mingle well with humans, your grace. If I did not know you, I would have said that you have done it before."

It is true, before last night, Viola has never interacted with a human. Not once, even when she eats (she has an arrangement for packets of blood to be delivered to her personal home). She is too busy running the society to do so.

"What can I say, Niles. I am a natural business woman," Viola quips.

When she and Niles reach the third floor, Viola is hit with an aroma that causes her to go weak in the knees and stumble. Her mouth waters, her fangs poke against her bottom lip.

"Niles... what is that smell?" she begs her second in command, her grip on his sleeve vise.

"What smell, your grace?" Niles is worried, Viola can tell when his hold on her is tighter than necessary as he tries to keep her steady on her feet.

"You do not smell that?" Her jaw goes slack, shocked. "It is..." she licks her lips, "...like nothing I have ever smelt before. Oh, Niles," she moans. She wishes she could describe to him what the delicious scent smells like, but no legible words can pierce through the fog of her mind.

Viola rips herself free from Niles' arms and she hastily stumbles down the hallway, following the scent. She just wants to know where it is coming from... Just a taste.

Niles is hot on her trail. He tries to restrain her, but his attempts are fruitless.

"Your grace!"

Viola reaches her destination, and what she sees through both Niles and Marshal's eyes would have sent her to her knees if Niles had not been there to catch her.

"It cannot be," Niles murmurs from behind her.

It is not possible... but there he is. So beautiful. Just as she remembers, albeit his features are a bit younger.

Marshal's questioning and confused gaze switches to her, but Niles' eyes are all she needs because he, too, is obviously in disbelief.

The hair, locks of thick dark-brown hair fashionably disheveled from repeated finger combs (short yet long enough to grab a decent handful, which Viola is tempted to do); the eyes, every shade of blue are visible within his orbs, altering in different types of lighting (she remembers cursing and yelling for hours about her inability to be able to gaze into them whenever she pleased. Such beauty and she was unable to appreciate them); and those lips, she could never forget those lips, a soft color of rouge, almost the color of blood, which beckon for her to gently nibble, lick and suck on them.

All the same. All worth standing still in time for all eternity with him.

Viola finally finds her voice, and though trembling and broken, thick with unshed tears, she gasps out, "...David...?"

* * *

**(A/N) Author's Note:** This will take place before, during, and after the movie. (And I already have a sequel brewing in my head for when _Days of Future Past_ comes out. Excited for that!) Yes, this has vampires in it, but don't confuse my version with Stephenie Meyer's _Twilight_ version of vampires. No sparkling ones in this story! They're mutants just like the rest.

I don't know how many times I've attempted to do an X-MEN fanfiction, but I am dedicated to finishing this. I already have the first few chapters typed out, but I'm going to pace them.

While I have your attention, don't forget to check out my tumblr page which will have some gif sets and edits pertaining to this story (when I feel like making some), the link is on my page. Also, check out my community which is dedicated to stories that I think are underappreciated (review wise), and if you have a story or suggestions that you would like for me to add to it, send me a PM. That is all :)


	2. And Then She Saw His Face

**My Souℓ to Take**  
_An X-MEN: First Class (2011) Fanfiction_

_My Souℓ to Take © F0REVERM0RE _  
_X-MEN: First Class © Marvel Studios_

* * *

**Chapter Two:**  
**And Then She Saw His Face **

"David" faces the stunned Viola, a quizzical brow raised on his oh so similar face. "Pardon?"

_It is not him,_ Viola is devastated to realize. Of course it is not David. He is dead, and has been for decades. _Stupid, Viola, so stupid_, she mentally scolds herself.

"Uh," Marshal clears his throat, "Mrs. Sheffield, this is a student of mine, Charles Xavier," he introduces, compelled, judging by the sudden thickness overtaking the air in his small hospital room. His announcement falls on deaf ears.

"Have we met before? I feel as if I know you from somewhere," _he_ speaks. Viola's muscles go rigid at the sound of his eloquent tone of voice.

She let her guard down, and even though no one of real importance is here to witness it, it is still a danger for someone in her position. Like she explained to Jonathon, she cannot have weaknesses. And this – whatever _this_ is – is a **huge** disadvantage against her.

Swallowing back her aching thirst, Viola grasps at her second-in-command with a vise grip to relief some of her tension. She speaks through clenched teeth, "Niles, get me out of here. Now."

Niles is swift to obey. In a sweeping motion, he lifts Viola off her feet in a cradling position and promptly makes his way down the hall of the third floor toward the staircase.

"Hey, wait a minute!" Marshal calls after them. "Aren't you suppose to be giving me a lift? I'm being discharged within the hour!"

"We will send a vehicle back to retrieve him," Viola tells Niles, frailly.

"We shall return for you!" Niles barks over his shoulder toward the perplexed teacher. (So seems his profession.)

Closing her eyes, Viola presses her nose against Niles' chest to muffle her sense of smell. She breaths in his cologne, which the main ingredient is a spice of some sort. But it does not ale the image burned into her memory much like a painting, or a photograph (as the newer generation use now).

"What was that, Niles?" she whispers grimly.

"I do not know, your grace," he replies, his voice tight and clipped. "But we shall find out soon enough, you have my guarantee."

The sensation of upcoming tears burn beneath Viola's lids, but they do not fall- cannot fall for the sake of her dignity. Whatever remains of it. All of her bridges, the walls she spent decades constructing after her husband's death - gone within an instant, without a fight whatsoever. "He had his face, Niles. _His face..._ My David."

"Yes; yes he did."

"It is not possible. Please tell me that it is not possible for him to be still alive," she pathetically pleads.

"It is not possible, your grace. He burned down with the estate many years ago. No immortal can come back from that, not even Lord David. He may have been highly taught in the occult but resurrection can simply not be done."

"And what of reincarnation?" Viola counters. Her hope hangs on a thread, dwindling by Niles' sound logic. _"Have we met before? I feel as if I know you from somewhere."_ She releases a shuttering breath at the possibility.

"Merely a myth I am afraid." Niles sounds grave.

Viola's hope shatters, leaving behind an empty hole in her chest. She appreciates Niles and his blunt, honest answers to her doubts. Without him she would not be the leader she has become today. He keeps her grounded, sane...not lonely(_ish_). If not for him she would have given up on, well, everything after David died: the will to survive, the society (which had taken David centuries to build before he even met her), and on herself.

"Oh my goodness, is she okay? Do you need to see a doctor?" Marie, the nurse, gasps and runs into Niles' path to the exit.

"She is fine. She missed breakfast and had a little near faint incident is all. I am taking her home now," Niles lies, going around the fussing blonde nurse.

"Keep an eye on her. She is interesting," Viola commands meekly, fidgeting in Niles' arms. She wants to get down now, she hates looking needy in public. Niles takes the hint and lets her down while replying, "Another, your grace?"

"I did not say that I am going to change her now," she snorts. "She will go through the program like the rest, if she is willing of course. Just assign a scout to her and have them fill out the necessary information I need to see if I want her."

"You want her?" Niles inquires, perplexed.

"She is progressive." Viola shrugs her right shoulder.

"Are you sure that is wise, your grace?"

"Why is it not? I have not bred a companion for myself. It cannot hurt to look into possible candidates."

"And you are thinking of this nurse and not the boy, Mr. Carter, introduced as a student of his?"

"Hold your tongue," Viola venomously snaps. She halts in her stride, clenching her hands and thinking of a defensive response. "I..." she sighs solemnly, coming up with no excuse. Her shoulders slump. "I am lonely and I am tired. Seeing his face made me remember my life of solitude. It was all worth it when I had David by my side, but now I have no one, Niles. I want...I want to not be alone anymore."

"You are never alone, your grace," Niles says just above a whisper. There is a raw undertone in his voice.

"Now, what would the Mrs say about that?" A small smile tugs at the corners of Viola's mouth, full of guilt. "I know," she sighs, "I have you. I apologize. But you offer me a different kind of companionship, Niles. It is not the kind I crave at night."

Niles nods in agreement. He is more of a father figure to Viola than a potential lover. (If she took away the fact that he is happily married.) He has been there since the beginning, since before she became an immortal. When David announced that he was taking in a wife that was still human, not a lot of his followers consented with his decision because he was considered a 'pure-blood'. (He deserved an immortal wife already trained to the societies customs, not a naive mortal one.) Niles was the only one there to help David on teaching her the 'how-to' and history of the immortals. Of course it could have been because he was already David's second-in-command and he was simply following the orders of his superior, but he treated Viola with kindness, respect, and offered her wisdom. (More than her actual birth father ever did.) He watched her grow and transform much like a parent would their child.

"Need I refresh your memory, your grace, that the nurse is a woman?" Niles asks.

"David is the last man I have ever been with; the only man I ever _want_ to be with. So, yes, I do know that Marie is a woman," Viola answers, a smug smirk curving her lips.

Chuckling, Niles opens the back door of the town car for Viola. "Progressive indeed, your grace."

******[·]**

_Intense heat licked at her alabaster flesh, surrounding her from all corners and encasing her in a prison of angry flames. Smoke inflamed her lungs and hoarse and disgusting coughs racks her slender frame. She can hear the enraged shouts from outside, the screaming, the crying, the shattering of windows as rocks and bricks break through. She falls to her hands and knees, rubbing at the stinging sensation building up in her sightless eyes._

_How come she did not see this coming? She should have seen this coming!_

_Finally, sight is granted to her when a figure darts down the hall leading to her private chambers. Their direct route is to her door, and whoever it is, they begin to kick it in after they discover that it is jammed. _

"_Viola!"_

"_David!" __she screams back between coughs, elated that it is her husband and he is alive._

_With one final shove at the sound of the desperation in her voice, the door splinters off its hinges and David barrels through. __He swiftly maneuvers through the amber flames __and jumps to her aid__. __Wrapping his arms protectively around her, he lifts her in the air and runs out of their __collapsing __bedroom __moments before the roof caves in__._

_Viola frantically tries to reach out to any survivors in the large estate, but she finds nothing – just darkness. She prays that the reason for this is because they have all made it out safely, and she was the only fool to be trapped within the house. _

_Rounding a corner, David skids to a stop when the only exit is blocked with fallen debris. His head turns in all directions, searching for a different escape route; his eyes land on a window. __He holds her closer to his chest and is about to run through when a shout for help interrupts their departure._

_Viola shakes her head at the decision decided in her husband's head. __"__David, no," __she begs, clutching at his clothes. "There is no time!"_

"_I cannot leave them behind," he snaps. _

_David sets Viola down on the floor, making sure that she is in the right position to escape from through the window __without the use of his eyes__._

"_Then let me come with you!" __she implores him._

"_It will be too dangerous," __David__ quickly denies. __He stands in front of her, __and she feels his forehead rest against hers__.__ "I will be right behind you. And if I am not__–__"_

"_No, please do not say that," she sobs._

"–_I__ will always find you. Always,__ Viola__." __Dipping his head low, David captures Viola's lips. He wraps his fingers around her upper-arms and brings her flush to his body, but before Viola can __cooperate__, he pushes, and she falls, reaching for empty air._

_He did not come out._

"Your grace," Niles' voice brings Viola out of her memories, "we have arrived."

"Go back for Mr. Carter," she commands coolly, clenching her jaw. She has not thought of that night in years. She blames herself for not warning her husband of the upcoming attack by the humans, but Niles quickly rebuttals by saying she could have not have seen the raid coming for she was fast asleep for the night and not even she is "that good".

To this day, Viola refuses to close her eyes for longer than a few hours at most. (And still, nightmares plague her dreams.)

"What about the incident? Will you not need my assistance with research?"

"You may help me when you return. Mr. Carter needs to see a familiar face, he is in a fragile state of distrust against us," she clarifies.

"As you wish."

Swiftly Viola exits the town car and she marches up into the temporary head quarters. Just as she looses Niles' eyes when he drives off, she earns dozens more once she is beyond the foyer of the house.

All are waiting for orders.

"We will begin tonight," Viola announces. "Do not go too far, because if you are not accounted for once the trial starts than I will assume the worst and issue for an immediate warrant for your capture and containment. Understood?"

She does not receive an answer, and she growls. "Did you _all_ nod?"

"Yes, your grace," one immortal, a male, is courageous enough to embarrassingly admit.

"Christ, the generation these days. No respect," she mutters under her breath, storming off in the direction of the study.

The heavy wooden doors of the study slam shut behind her, cutting her off from the gift of sight. She groans out loud, thudding the back of her head against the mahogany wood. Fisting her hands, she gives one quick and sharp slam to the wall beside her, creating a hole in the stucco.

_Get a grip, Viola,_ she chides herself, clenching her teeth.

An image of Charles, or David – _HIM! _– invades her mind once again. Her mouth waters at the remembrance of his intoxicating scent, and her fangs press against her closed mouth. Stupid human threw off her control.

_Now where d__oes Jonathon__ store __his__ blood?_ Viola tries to map out the layout of the study in her mind from her brief glimpse of it through Jonathon's eyes before she subdued him. He offered her a glass of the red liquid and opened a small fridge from... _His desk drawer!_ Extending her hands, Viola attempts to feel her way to the presidential style work station.

A knock on the study's entrance causes for Viola to exhale in relief. She is no closer to the desk than she would like to admit. Standing poised, she says over her shoulder, "You may enter."

Three male immortals come in, one of them not too willingly. Viola quirks an intrigued brow and turns around to face them.

"He tried to flee, your grace," the scout to the far right states.

"Oh?" She calmly strolls up to the immortal boxed in-between the two scouts. "And what are you trying to hide from me, my dear?"

She can hear the immortal nervously gulp, but he does not speak a word. Typical.

Viola rolls her eyes. "You never want to make this easier for you, do you?" she tuts with a shake of her head.

Raising her hand, she runs the back of her nails down the man's face (from his temple to his chin) in an almost caressing and affectionate motion. A series of images and moving pictures tell her his story and worries.

"Oh, you bad boy." She grins mischievously, playfully she pinches his chin and moves it side to side. "While you have been naughty, you are not the man I am looking for."

He sags in relief.

Clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth, she asks, "Tell me, what is your name?"

"Jefferey, your grace. Jefferey Smith."

"Jefferey, Jefferey Smith," she tests his name on her tongue. Her nose scrunches, she does not like it. "Jefferey, you do realize that marriage is a sacred vow?"

"Y-yes, your grace."

"_I _take marriage vows very seriously."

"Y-yes, your grace. I-I know."

"So, please explain to me why – after all the difficulty you had to go through of getting her the authorization for infection – are you cheating on your wife? And with another mortal no less. Is that what you like? What gets you all hot and bothered?"

"I-"

Viola interrupts Jefferey (and maybe it is her burning thrust - the sight of _him_ - helping her along). "AFTER EVERYTHING SHE LEFT BEHIND FOR YOU!" she snarls, disgusted. "Her parents, her _daughter_. You took advantage of the fact she was a fresh widow against her; made her think you were her savior, a chance at true love again."

"I...I..." Jefferey stammers.

"Get him out of my sight," Viola tells the scouts. "I am putting an immediate halt on any requests Jefferey Smith may have already made or will want to make in the future. He will no longer receive any assistance from me or the council."

"W-what? You can't do that!" Jefferey shouts.

"Oh, really? Because I believe I just did."

"How will I live?"

Viola carelessly shrugs. "No longer my problem."

In the midst of dragging him out of the study, Viola makes known, "Oh, and if you do anything drastic, Jeffery Smith, I will have the means to terminate the problem." _I.E. if you do anything stupid, I can and will kill you._

Again, Viola is left alone at the sound of the soft 'click' of the study doors shutting. She bustles to the desk, ungracefully knocking over lamps and tables, and on more than one occasion she stubs her toe or trips over the rug. But she has to get to that blood.

Settling clumsily on the large swivel chair behind the desk, Viola blindly gropes at the many drawers until she finds the one she is looking for. Crisp and cool air blows against her forearm when she opens the small refrigerator. Reaching in, she grabs the first bag she can feel.

Normally Viola likes to heat up the blood so that she fools herself into thinking its absolutely fresh out of the human host, but at the moment she just wants to regain what she lost - her control.

Ripping open the top of the plastic medical bag, Viola tips her head back and greedily gulps down the cold and lumping red liquid. She does not drink fast enough for some spills out of her mouth and runs down her chin and neck and falls on to her shirt. And sooner than she would have liked, the bag is empty.

She grabs another, and she repeats in her sloppy feeding.

"All right what the hell was – oh God that's disturbing." Marshall barges into the study without an invitation. Niles is right behind him, and as soon as he sees Viola's state he is by her side within the blink of an eye. "Whoa." Marshal breathes.

Niles gently takes Viola's hands, gingerly taking the bag from her tight grasp. Afterward he begins wiping her face clean with his handkerchief.

"It is not enough," Viola murmurs, listless. "I drink and drink, and it is not enough. I am still thirsty."

"Um, Mrs. Sheffield," Marshal intervenes, awkwardly clearing his throat. "Can you care to explain why you have a painting of my top student on the wall?"

Viola switches her view from her unpleasant, blood soaked features from through Niles- over to Marshal's inquiring gaze upon the sizable portrait of a man in his early-thirties, dressed in noble clothing. A portrait she always takes with her whenever she goes on an extended meet. It is the smallest of three other nearly identical paintings. The remaining two are at her private residence in Paris.

She forgot that Niles hung it up in the study. She thought she told him to hang it up in the master's chamber.

"That is not your student," Viola wistfully replies.

Marshal steps in closer and reads the golden plaque at the bottom of the frame. "Lord David William Sheffield of Ravensfield." Suddenly he backs away as if stricken across the face with an unseen object. "Oh dear Lord, that is your husband isn't it?"

Viola's face falls, solemn. "My deceased husband, yes."

"I... Uh... How?" Marshal sputters. "That's not possible."

"So I have been repeatedly told," she drawls spitefully.

Pointing at the painting, he exclaims. "That looks exactly like him! That's... That's... Well, that's almost as shocking as vampires actually existing."

Viola leisurely shrugs, and Marshal cannot seem to tear his gaze away from the portrait, viewing it from all angles, in complete disbelief.

Done with wiping the blood clean from Viola's face and neck, Niles discards his handkerchief into the trash bin. Taking out another bag of blood from the refrigerator, he drones, "At least allow me to the courtesy to heat this batch up for you, your grace."

"Which reminds me, how is your transformation going, Mr. Carter?" Viola directs to Marshal.

"I can't really feel my hands or feet if that's what you're asking," he replies, finally looking away from the painting to sit across from Viola at the desk.

"Any signs of hunger?"

Marshal shakes his head. "No."

"Still stubborn then are we?" Viola notes, nodding at Niles for him to continue in his task of heating up her drink.

"What do you mean?"

Viola does not answer right away. She needs to test his limits, check to see if he will be a problem once the meeting begins and his sire is presented before her execution. "You will not be able to ignore it for long."

Marshal sighs in exasperation, and briefly his eyes close before they reopen. "_Ignore_ what?" he questions, terse though collected. Viola is impressed.

"Why the need to feed, of course," she says simply. "I mean, you did not protest when you were sucking away on my blood. The sooner you accept that you are infected, the easier the transformation will be. Do not fight it."

"But I don't want to accept it!" Marshal slams his palms down on the desk. "I don't want to be..._this_, a vampire, an immortal – whatever! All I want is what you promised me."

"And you will get it, Mr. Carter. Justice will be served. I just need you prepared first," Viola acknowledges. "I cannot have you acting erratic during my interrogation."

Breathing in deeply, Marshal exhales heavily. "You're right. I'm sorry. What do you need me to do?"

With perfect timing, Niles returns with Viola's heated beverage. He sets the crystal wine glass in front of her on a coaster; Viola slides it over to Marshal.

"Drink," she utters.

"Shall I prepare you another glass, your grace?" asks Niles.

"No thank you, but you may make one for yourself, Niles. Take a break, call the wife," Viola replies, distracted. Her attention is on Marshal and his intense staring contest he is having with the glass before him. She can sense his inner-battle with his humanity.

"Thank you, your grace," Niles replies before departing.

"You will not be like her, Mr. Carter. She is untrained, lacks the will for control, focused solely on the sensations and not the consequences. She is the monster, not you," Viola cajoles the human-almost-newborn.

Marshal abruptly takes the glass and sniffs its contents first before testing it out with taste. Viola smiles. "And that is what we call self-control," she observes. "Most newborns lap the entire cup when offered a drink."

Kicking off her shoes, Viola props her feet up on the seat of the armchair and rests her chin on top of her knees. Wrapping her arms around her legs, she continues to stare at the world from through Marshal's eyes. His mind offers her a bit of clarity and peace because while he is calmly sipping his beverage, adjusting to the cooper taste, his thoughts are on his wife and daughter.

"Tell me about him," she finds herself bringing up the subject of forbidden fruit. "About...Charles."

Marshal's gaze flicks up at her. "What do you want to know?"

She shrugs in response. "Anything. What is he like?"

Shifting in his seat, Marshal clears his throat. "Well, he is in my sophomore class and is extremely bright. Brilliant, actually - at the top of my class, as I mentioned before."

"What do you teach?" she asks.

"Genetics," he answers. "Beginner to advanced at Oxford University."

Viola snickers. "A bit ironic is it not? You are a genetics professor, and you are now infected with a virus that – as far as humans know – does not exist."

Marshal chuckles humorlessly. "Yes; if under different circumstance this would be a huge scientific breakthrough I would had kill to examine. Imagine it, the key to immortality has been right underneath our very noses the entire time, laced with myth and urban legends. Tell me, does Dracula actually exist?"

Smirking, Viola shakes her head. "No. Nor do we fear crucifixes, sunlight, or garlic. Oh, and we do not change into bats, just in case you try jumping off the roof."

The glass in Marshal's hand slips from his fingers and shatters against the hardwood floor of the study. He goes limp in his chair, slouching dangerously low to falling off. Viola instantaneously is by his side to straighten him out comfortably on the floor.

"What's happening?" he asks, eyes wide with fright.

"Your transformation process is advancing." Viola brushes aside some of his bronze locks. "You will be fine, just relax. I will watch over you."

He struggles to keep his gaze on Viola from the corner of his eye when he cannot turn his head. "So this is dying, huh? Not exactly how I imagined it. I can't feel a thing."

Viola sits on the floor next to Marshal with her legs extended and folded one on top of the other. "Would you rather it be painful?" she asks.

"I would rather it to have been with Mary and Daphne," he murmurs the names of his wife and daughter.

"I am sorry," Viola says earnestly.

"You—" Marshal licks his lips, or attempts to, "—you said that your husband is deceased. How did he die?"

"In a fire," she answers, succinct and cold.

Marshal scoffs. "Come on, you've got to give me more than that. You know every single detail about my wife and daughter's death, I should at least know your husband's if you want me to trust you."

Viola presses her lips to form a thin line. She has not discussed to length of that night, not even with Niles, so why should she suddenly open up to a complete stranger like Marshal?

_Did I not just tell Niles I want a confidant?_ Viola muses. She frowns at herself and shakes off the thought. _His entire family was just murdered_.

"Mrs. Sheffield?"

"Humans raided our home one night," she begins, aloof. She does not know why she is telling him about that night, but her mouth refuses to cooperate with her brain when she demands herself to shut up. "I do not know how they learned of what we were, or even how they got past the watchmen. They stormed the estate, shooting and stabbing at anything they could find, but when they discovered that we could not die the conventional way, they set fire to...everything." She frowns. "Everyone made it out okay enough; all except David and one other. They burned down with the main house."

When she is done speaking, Viola's brow furrows when she notices the slight vibration of the ceiling above. It finally dons on her on the reason and she quickly places herself in Marshal's view, hovering above him. She cups his face gently with her hands, removes his glasses, and forces him to stare into her colorless eyes.

"Shh, it is okay," she coos. "It is okay, ride it out. It will be over soon."

She may have sugar-coated the last stage of morphing into an immortal to Marshal. Instead of being _slightly_ uncomfortable like she said it would be, it is more like going into epileptic shock for a period of five minutes or more.

In due time, Marshal's violent shaking ceases from underneath Viola. He gasps for air, eyes frantically looking left and right and up and down in amazement that he is not dead. And she patiently waits for his shock to subside.

Marshal blinks, his vision crisp and clear; he no longer will be needing his glasses. "I...I can see," he chuckles.

"Any imperfections, as you can call them, have been repaired after full virus takeover," Viola explains. "Bad eye-sight, illnesses, broken bones, cuts, bruises..." she lists and then trails off because he gets the point.

"If so, then how are you still blind?" he wonders.

Viola shrugs carelessly. "Cannot repair what you never had."

Sitting up, Marshal slowly inhales and exhales. "So, when do we start?"

"Eager are we?" Viola grins, excitement swelling in her chest. "Niles!" she calls.

Niles enters the study from the main room. "Yes, your grace?"

"We are ready to begin," she declares.

**[·]**

Gathering in the courtyard out back because of the sheer numbers of attendees, gazes nervously switch back and forth between Viola and at the setup of a unlit bonfire behind her.

Marshal stands on her left. Niles is at her right. Haley Bennett is on her knees in front of her, at the center of the surrounding circle of immortals.

Not a single word is spoken, nor does Viola attempt to break the silence. She is busy listening, waiting for one of the males to make a mistake. All she needs is one little falter and she will have her man.

"Um, Mrs. Sheffield," Marshal leans over to whisper.

"Viola."

"Beg your pardon?"

"My name: Viola. Use it," she clarifies.

"Okay, and you may call me Marshal, I suppose." He awkwardly shuffles on his feet. "Well, Viola, are we just going to stand here all night?"

"Nope, but I would really appreciate it if you can please keep quite, because while I am an excellent at multitasking, there are a lot more minds to shift through than I am use to. I need all of my focus."

"Oh, yes, sorry," he stammers before shutting up.

"Bingo." Sharply, with precision, Viola's faces the direction of Haley's sire and pushes his image into the surrounding immortals. "Bring him to me," she commands.

Just as the immortals are about to spring into action, Haley's sire makes a hasty getaway, darting through the bushes. Viola huffs. "Why must they always run?"

"Self-preservation and what not," Marshal wittily remarks from beside her. Viola retains a smirk.

"The first immortal, or immortals, to bring that man into my custody will receive a reward of their choice. Nothing is out of the question," she proclaims to the large crowd. The courtyard is empty within seconds, with the exception of Viola, Niles, Marshal, and Haley.

"What do we do now?" Marshal questions, eyes sweeping the empty courtyard before settling on Viola at his side.

"We watch her burn," she replies, taking a step to the side. "Niles, will you please do the honors of setting her up for Marshal."

Her second-in-command reaches down for the oddly silent newborn. When he lifts her to her feet, Haley trains a heated gaze onto Viola with the hopes of it searing the woman's flesh no doubt.

"Who gave you the right to choose whether someone lives or dies?" she utters with an unattractive sneer marring her otherwise delicate and attractive features.

"You did, when you decided to stop being human and become one of my kind, which gives me the jurisdiction to do with you as I please," Viola quips.

Niles begins to tie Haley up. Normally burning at the stake is not the way Viola prefers to exterminate felons because it is time consuming, but she wants to draw out Haley and her sire's pain for what they have done to Marshal, his wife, Mary, and his daughter, Daphne.

"I'll scream," Haley promises.

"No you will not," Viola counters. "I will not let you."

"She is secure," Niles reports.

"Are you sure you can handle this?" Viola directs to Marshal.

He does not answer.

"Oh God, did you nod, again?" she groans.

"Repeatedly," he replies darkly. "Give me the matches." Viola blinks in surprise by his tone.

She is liking this man more and more. She is definitely planning on keeping him if he chooses to live.

Viola tosses the box of matches to Marshal. "Light her up."

Different vantage points of the bonfire come to Viola's attention when five immortals come back into the courtyard. "Your grace," one calls out to her.

"Yes?" she acknowledges without facing them.

"We've hit a bit of a snag in the pursuit of Irving."

It is now that Viola turns around, sharply spinning on the balls of her feet; her hands are clenched into fists at her sides. "A snag? What _sna__g_?" she barks.

"I don't know, your grace," he gulps. "We had him in our sights and were about to grab him when some kid told us to leave him alone."

"And you listened to him?!" she roars in rage.

"Yes. I don't know how, but we did. It was as if we were compelled to obey, your grace, and we thought we should let you know at once since it is so similar to your own gift."

"Show him to me," Viola growls through clenched teeth. All five immortals picture the same person, a person that makes Viola's blood run cold (more than usual). He seems to be popping up more and more lately.

"Marshal, postpone the burning," Viola says to the widower.

"Why? What's going on?" Marshal asks, stepping up from behind her.

Tilting her head slightly in the direction of Marshal, Viola inquires, "Exactly how _brilliant_ is that student of yours?"


	3. Her Name Begins With Vi

**My Souℓ to Take**  
_An X-MEN: First Class (2011) Fanfiction_

_My Souℓ to Take © F0REVERM0RE _  
_X-MEN: First Class © Marvel Studios_

_*Majorly edited on 24 February 2014_

* * *

**Chapter Three:**  
**Her Name Begins With Vi**

"Charles?"

"So it seems."

"Char-_Charles_?"

"Yes, Marshal," Viola sighs.

"No, nope, I refuse to believe that," he profusely denies, shaking his head. "I've known this lad for two years, _two years_, he can't possibly be... like you."

Viola does not take offense to Marshal's remark. A whole new world has been introduced to him, a world of the unknown, and it is all still new to him. (And she expects a lot more snide comments from him in the upcoming days; unless he decides to join his wife and daughter after the execution of Haley and Irving, which she hopes he does not.)

"So are you going to get in the car and come with me or am I finding him – unsupervised – without you?" Viola cleverly inquires, slyly slipping in Marshal's lingering distrust of immortal blood-suckers (or "vampires" as he called them, whatever). The genetics professor swiftly slides into the back of the town car with his new found in-human speed. Viola barely retains smirking.

She pats the side of the car before entering, signaling to Niles' to begin driving.

"So how are we going to find him? I don't know where he lives if that is the reason behind bringing me." Marshal asks.

"We go where young mister Charles was last seen and then we follow his scent. Hopefully Irving has not done anything too anserine."

"His scent? You want to follow his scent like a dog?"

"If you want to word it that way, yes," Viola mutters distastefully. While she understands the root of Marshal's hatred it does not mean she likes the way the newborn is – and keeps – describing her people. They are her family, all she has left. It is beginning to vex her. However, she cannot lose her temper toward him while he is still in his fragile and highly sensitive state. He did not go through the academy like the others, which teach the humans – before infection – about the rules and history of the immortals. (Plus he was an unwilling subject.)

"And how do you suppose we find his scent then? I don't make it a habit to go about sniffing my students."

"Leave that part to me." Viola is stoic as she tries to mentally prepare herself to hunt for the boy whom is the dead-ringer of her long departed husband. The boy who has the most alluring aroma she has ever smelt in her entire existence – and she has been alive for a very long time.

"Oh, yes, I've been meaning to ask you about what happened back at the hospital," says Marshal. "There was more than just Charles being the spitting image of your husband, wasn't there? You looked terrified; not exactly the kind of reaction someone would have when seeing a long departed loved one."

Viola frowns, uncomfortable by Marshal's observation. Albeit a correct one. She was afraid of breaking her own law and feasting on human blood fresh from the source until there was no more. "I do not know, it has never happened before to my recollection, nor has a case been reported with a similar motive. He was just so..." Words failed to come to mind on how to describe her desire for the young human male. "He made me so hungry."

"Nope, don't want to know about that. You cannot eat my student, Viola."

"I am not going to eat your student." She hums and shrugs. "Well, I will _try_ not to eat him."

"Don't even joke about that."

Viola sighs gravelly. "Believe me, I am not. And that is why I brought you," she tells him. "I may not be in the right state of mind when we find Charles. He knows you, your presence could help defuse any tension. You will have to talk to him and explain things if I am unable to."

"And what should I tell him?"

"The truth."

"You want me to tell Charles that my wife and daughter were killed by a vampire? Sorry, _immortal_," he corrects upon noticing Viola's cross expression. "And that the only reason I am alive is because I was infected by said murderer and now can never die myself."

"If you want to capture the man responsible for the creation which caused your family's death, then yes."

"And what if it doesn't work?"

"If I do not have the strength to compel him in helping us find Irving - if he is not already there that is..." A deep pit forms in Viola's stomach. She knows what has to be done and has never felt remorse before whenever she had given the order, but the thought of using persuasion the old fashioned way against the unsuspecting Charles does not sit well with her. "Niles knows what to do."

"I don't like the sound of that," Marshal replies warily.

"If it has to be done, it will be done."

"Christ! You can't-"

"If we do not catch Irving, many more lives are in danger than just that of your _one_ student!" Viola venomously snaps. "Imagine the night of your wife and child's death but tenfold – other families, other people. If you cannot put your personal feelings aside I will forbid you from leaving this car when we find him, and you know that I very well can."

Marshal clams up, and the remainder of the car ride is spent in a thick and heavy silence.

Over the years Viola has learned to think only with a critical and business mind, with the intent on keeping her people safe from harm and thriving for future generations. Though she often wished that it had never came down to her being the one in rule; she was just suppose to be the wife, spend eternity with the man she loved – _he_ was suppose to do all the work, all the decision making. And when the time came when all eyes turned to her after their leader fell, she had to take charge and make the hard choices. She had to learn not to let her emotions sway her judgment, and it was not easy. But it had to be done. So, yes, she heard the rumors on how she is described to other people: cold, manipulating, vain, to tread lightly in her presence "or else". Nothing like how she used to be called: kind, compassionate, good for the Lord and deserving of him.

All for the good of her people.

"We have arrived at mister Charles' last known location," Niles breaks the eerie stillness, slowing the car to a stop.

Viola rolls down the window to let in some air. Closing her eyes she focuses on her sense of smell and slowly breaths in, various scents waft through her nose, but she tries to single out the distinct essence that makes Charles so special. And she finds it. It is faint, but she is sure the closer they get it will become stronger. She swallows thickly, running her tongue along her upper-lip.

"Continue forward," she instructs Niles. From then on she tells him whether to turn left or right or to continue straight on. Thankfully her earlier worries are minimal, while getting closer to Charles' destination she still has enough control needed to keep a straight mind. "Stop," she commands suddenly. "He is here, to our right."

"It's a loft," Marshal remarks after peering out the window, glancing at the row of European inspired homes. The flat stone work is intricate in its design and the carvings are magnificent, or at least they were, because sadly it is crumbling at the edges and at various patches. The only piece in good condition is the freshly polished wooden door. Viola has not seen a building quite like this in some time, most have been knocked down long ago or are left to be forgotten. "Doesn't look as nice as I thought it would be," says Marshal. "From what I know, Charles comes from quite the wealthy family."

"Tell the men to fan out and guard all the possible escape routes. I do not want Irving to get away again," Viola tells Niles.

"Will you be all right? I can take charge if you wish me to, your grace," Niles replies with concern.

"Last time I was taken by surprise and was ill prepared," she answers. "Lead me to the door," she directs to Marshal.

"You and I will be going in alone?" he asks. Viola nods.

"I highly doubt it will go well if we barge in there with a flank of immortals ready to attack on my command. If it can be avoided telling Charles about us existing then it shall be done."

"Finally, something we agree on," he mutters in return.

Viola feels a hand slide into her own whilst another gently nudges her at the small of her back to guide her in the correct direction. "Do not knock," she sharply interrupts Marshal's rising hand. He halts.

Taking her hand out of Marshal's, Viola presses it flat against the smooth surface of the wooden door. Just because the normal eye cannot see past solid barriers does not mean she has the same limitations. She sees past the wooden door, inside, searching for her intended target and any other inhabitants. She finds them. "There are three inside," she notes aloud.

"Is one of them the immortal we're looking for?" asks Marshal.

Viola singles out each individual to decipher whom they are.

One is sitting alone in a bedroom, pretending to be engrossed with a book but really is reading the same line over and over. However, the girl's real thoughts are on the stranger her brother brought home with him; her gaze keeps glancing up towards her firmly closed and locked door (which she was promptly told to upon their arrival despite her protests).

The remaining two are staring intensely at one another, separated by a coffee table but are sitting on the edges of their chosen seats. And when Viola learns of what topic which they are speaking of, she panics. Irving is spilling all of the immortal society's secrets to a complete stranger; a human no less!

Marshal begins to speak. "So how are we going to do this if we can't knock? Hopefully find an unlocked window..."

Viola takes a step back, lifts her knee, and swiftly kicks the door wide open- splintering it off its hinges. She does not like the direction the conversation is veering off to – her.

"Or we can do that," he finishes, heavily exhaling.

Much like the wave of a powerful tsunami, Viola is knocked back by the invisible force of Charles' home. Her mouth instantly waters, her fangs press uncomfortably against her bottom lip. She swallows them back and, with difficulty, holds her breath. (She is oh so tempted to take a moment to bask in his smell, to put a name to each different aroma that makes him so appetizing to her... before going in for the kill.)

"Are you all right?" Marshal asks with worry.

Viola frowns in realization. "He should have ran by now," she observes aloud, walking into the parlor where two set of eyes are awaiting for her entrance (one with more alarm than the other).

"Professor Carter?"

"Hello, Mr. Xavier." Marshal awkwardly waves from behind Viola's trembling figure.

"You have no right to come in here without the Lord's permission, wench!" Irving shouts, springing out of his seat. "You have no authority here. And once I inform the council about Lord David's resurrection, you'll be stripped of your rule and revealed as the traitor you've always have been."

"Watch your tongue!" Viola seethes, baring her fangs with her hands clench into fists at her sides. After all she has done for her people, after all she has sacrificed, she is anything but a traitor! "If there is a traitor in our midst- it is you. How dare you speak of our existence to a human, do you not remember of what happened the last time we were discovered? They are stronger, more deadly, more reckless now than they ever had been before; and we will not stand a chance if they think of us a threat and eliminate us!"

The remembrance of flames licking at her skin and melting off layer after layer, the screams of fear and agony when the surviving immortals fought back against the mob of attacking humans... the last time she ever saw David alive... flicker in Viola's mind one after the other and over and over again. She feels a push invade her thoughts, a foreign presence other than her own that is not suppose to be there. Her head sharply tilts in the direction of the only known assailant in the room with that kind of ability.

"Are you trying to get a peek, Mr. Xavier? But you did not ask permission," she tuts and promptly kicks him out of her head. "I will deal with you later, be patient. In fact, why not take Marshal and that darling girl upstairs into the kitchen for a nice cuppa and," she winks, "catch up. I believe she is quite frightened and has almost tried to call the local law enforcement twice. She is a resilient one, a command has yet to stick for quite long; I am assuming that is because of you."

"I have the right to a fair trial in front of the council, but I don't want you there to decide my fate. That honor alone belongs to Lord David, our true leader," Irving replies.

Viola turns up her nose. "There is no trial for the likes of you. A disgrace to all of our kind. Frankly I am surprised that your application was even approved when you applied for one. Marshal, remind me to tell Niles to add further restrictions for future applicants."

"Uhh, am I suppose to really...?" Viola passes him a 'what-do-you-think' glance over her shoulder. "Right." He nods, holding his hands up as a sign of peace.

"I have seen the portraits at the academy, I have learned all of our creator, and this is him. This is—"

"DAVID IS DEAD! He died because of idiots like you exposing us to the humans!" she bellows. "So stop this nonsense now, it is too late for you; you cannot be saved from the mess you have put yourself into."

"You have no sway over me anymore! Your sentence is moot compared to Lord David's; he may have been your sire, you may have tricked him into your bed, but you will _never_ be of the royal blood that flows through his veins," Irving says arrogantly strutting up to Viola unflinchingly. (He no longer fears her, not while he is in the presence of Charles, David's supposed reincarnation.)

Struck by Irving's rather truthful comment, because she knows she could never compare herself against David, the original ruler, Viola at first is taken aback because no one has dared to ever speak to her in that manner before, but after the initial shock and hurt wears off she is livid. (She is tired of being constantly reminded of her deceased husband lately.)

Speaking through clenched teeth and a forced close-lipped smile, Viola is on the cusps of expressing her anger through physical means. "You want his sentence? Then so be it. Irving Hemingway, you have been charged with the unauthorized infection of a Haley Bennett, whom went on to savagely murder two innocent humans, Mary and Daphne Carter, beloved wife and daughter of this man; on top of which is receiving the same sentence as you: a public cleansing. Sorry, Marshal," Viola quickly apologizes when she catches his feeble attempt to hide a flinch from her impassive words. "So, Mr. Xavier, what proper punishment do you think would justify this man's felonies?"

"Viola," Marshal calls to her softly.

"What?" she snaps.

She was so focused on keeping control, from keeping herself from breathing, on keeping that stupid girl upstairs from bringing in any more trouble that Viola did not notice her own state. Attention was focused on the confrontation between she and Irving, and Marshal was the first to glance further down than their snarling mouths.

First thing she feels is the wetness of her palms and then the slight uncomfortable sensation embedded within them. Unclenching her hands, thus removing her nails from digging in to her flesh, Viola rubs her fingers in her own blood and raises her trembling hand close to her face.

She is on edge, and it is a miracle she has not snapped yet.

"Enough chit-chat," she utters, becoming detached. "I apologize for the mess in advance, I will send you a check," she directs to Charles.

In a flash Viola is behind Irving, and before he can react to her sudden movement she wraps her hands around his chin and the back of his neck and then swiftly twists, snapping his neck. Irving falls limply forward, crashing onto the coffee table. "And this is why I have men to do this for me," she sighs. "I hate getting my own hands dirty." Bending over, Viola grabs the scruff of Irving's collar and lifts him, tossing his motionless form over toward Marshal. "He will not be unconscious for long. Take him outside for Niles to restrain."

"That was a little harsh," Marshal comments. "Couldn't you had just... _you know_?"

"What?" Viola wonders with a furrow in her brow.

"Oh, right, blind. I keep forgetting since you still, uh, I was just – it's nothing, it's stupid. What about you, what are you going to do?" asks Marshal, flustered.

Viola switches over to Charles' point-of-view, reads the horror and slight terror in his head as he is staring at her intimidating figure standing over his broken coffee table. (She hides her sadness of hearing his thoughts about her well.) "...I need to tie up some loose ends," she replies.

"Vi—"

"I am not going to kill him, my goodness Marshal, it is the _single_ rule I told you of. Besides, it is not like it should matter to you what I decided to do to the boy or not, you want to be cleansed once my promise is fulfilled and your precious family is avenged," she says spitefully.

Marshal is silent to her remark, but Viola can practically feel his erratic emotions bubbling underneath the surface.

"Just go," she orders regretting her words spoken out of instinct.

Marshal effortlessly tosses Irving over his shoulder without much thought, and when he realizes what he has done he laughs. A faint smile touches the corner of Viola's lips at Marshal's almost child-like happiness at discovering his new abilities. _If only they were enough for him to __want__ to stay,_ she thinks mournfully.

"Do you do that a lot?" a voice questions from behind her. "Scare people off before you think they would leave you first?"

"And what did I say about taking a look into my head without my permission, Mr. Xavier?"

"Charles; please, call me Charles."

Licking at the tips of her fangs, Viola is perplexed by his sudden change in perspective. Just moments ago he was fearing for his life and that of his sister.

"Do you always exchange familiarity with the things whom strike fear in your heart, or am I just a special case?" she teases hoping to hide her fluctuating control.

"I don't think you are a monster. You... you just took me by surprise."

_I never said monster,_ she frowns, doleful.

Viola's senses are so high that she can hear him gulp, and she tenses when he cautiously steps a little closer. "I didn't mean to cause such trouble," he apologizes. "It's just... after I saw you at the hospital, I had to know more about you. For some strange reason, I couldn't get you out of my head and it was driving me insane. And when I had the opportunity to learn more about you, I took it. I'm sorry."

_"And what of reincarnation?" Viola __wonders with meek hope__. __Like an echo, his voice is seared into her brain, always asking, '____Have we met before? I feel as if I know you from somewhere.____' __She releases a shuttering breath at the possibility._

_"Merely a myth I am afraid." Niles __gravely__ replies._

But resurrection? The thought had never occurred to her. Why did she not think of that? Could it be possible? Could Charles really be David, resurrected?

Most importantly, can she allow herself to hope?

In a moment of weakness, of complete, utter and devastating loneliness, Viola hesitantly extends her arm out toward Charles. He seems to know what she wants him to do without her having to tell him, he steps up to stand in front of her within arms length. She reaches out to touch him, to feel him. Only the tips of her fingers brush across his cheek when she is rudely awoken from her trance by the sound of footsteps pounding down a flight of stairs.

"Whoever you are, I called the police and they are on their way!" a high-pitched feminine voice warns, which is then followed by a gasp. "GET AWAY FROM MY BROTHER!"

Viola quickly rushes across the room farthest away from Charles, shocked about what she had almost done. She completely let her guard down.

"Raven, I thought I told you to stay in your room no matter what you heard," Charles chastises the young girl.

_What am I doing?_ Viola wonders, appalled by her actions. She is wasting too much time here, and there is much to be done. Oh God, and she was so horrible to Marshal.

She has to go.

"Wait, no, don't go! Come back!" Charles shouts for her. "I don't even know your name!"

"Go. Drive. Hurry," Viola commands upon entering the car.

**[Charles]**

He tries to chase after her, but she moves with such speed and agility which stuns him at its impossibility (then again, he can read people's minds and often compel them to bend to his will; so who is he to say what is and isn't possible?). He stands on his stoop, unable to stop the taillights which turn a corner, taking along with it one of the most bizarre occurrence he has ever dealt with.

Could there really be more out there than what he has discovered from through his and Raven's own experiences? An entire society of immortals — _Vampires_ — which had thrived behind the shadows, hidden from Humanity, for centuries.

And she is their leader.

What is her name?

Who is she?

What is so special about her that he can't get her out of his head?

Exhaling heavily, Charles runs his palm along his face and through his hair, tugging its ends out of frustration. While he did get some answers as to _what_ she is, piles more were added on when professor Carter came along with her to their little house call.

An immortal was the cause of his family's death, not a dog (as the paper's mentioned). That is why she was there at the hospital. She promised him vengeance by capturing and "cleansing" the ones responsible, to which he then would be "cleansed".

What does that mean?

Cleanse is to make clean, to purify.

Infection, she mentioned infection – that's how they mutate, turn into an immortal.

To be cleansed of the infection is to be turned back into a normal human being, perhaps?

Professor Carter is one of them.

"You've got blood on you," Raven meekly comments from within the house. Charles turns to gaze at her from over his shoulder. In disguise, covering her true form, she is in their pre-arranged choice of a young girl in the last years of adolescence and looks no older than fourteen; her blonde hair is sloppily pulled back into a high ponytail and, unlike he, she is dressed in her house clothes and slippers, she shuffles on her feet, adding, "You'd might want to take that off before the cops come."

Charles doesn't verbally respond, he pulls the sleeve of his dress-shirt up to the center of his palm and raises it up to his right cheek. But he hesitates to wipe clean her blood. The fleeting touch of her cool fingertips against his heated face had ended too soon. She feels it too; what ever it is that is between them: a certain charge, an attraction (obviously), a longing. As soon as he saw her in professor Carter's hospital room it was as if he was struck by lightning. The first thing he noticed was her beauty and then her blindness (but he did not care; if anything he was only more intrigued); he had never seen someone so striking as she before. Secondly, as soon as he tried to peer into her mind he found that he couldn't, there was some sort of barrier blocking her from him. (To which he now knows why. She is like him, a telepath.) Plus, he couldn't help but feel as if he had met her before. (Perhaps in his dreams? As cliche as it sounds.) And then she was gone, taken away yet again. But when she barged into the parlor that night, full of determination, the spark intensified and the emptiness of her absence had faded... It was as if he were... _whole_... again.

He was so close, she was about to give in.

And then she was gone, yet again. The emptiness returns.

"How was I suppose to know that you actually wanted them to break into our house? I thought she had hurt you after I saw the blood!" Raven exclaims in defense, throwing her arms up in the air. "Who were they anyway?"

Finally wiping his cheek clean, Charles mutters, "I don't know."

When the cops come, Charles sends Raven back up to her room and then feeds them lies explaining the reason behind his broken in door and disheveled parlor room. A simple break-in, he and his sister were in their rooms at the time of the burglar's entry, and when he came out to investigate the odd noises they panicked and ran, but nothing of value was stolen and he will replace the coffee table and door in the morning, and no, he does not want to issue a statement, he just wants to rest for the night.

But they stationed a patrolman in front of the house anyway, just in case the burglars decide to come back to finish the job.

In his room, Charles is too wired to sleep. Not good since he has classes in the early morning hours. However, he does close his eyes- in order to concentrate. He replays the night's event in his head, hoping to gather any usual information as to what Her name is. When he first met her he was sure that professor Carter spoke her name, but Charles is ashamed to admit that he did not hear it - or anything - because as soon as he laid eyes on her, the world around him just...ceased to matter. And when he spoke it again this night to notify her about her hands, it was spoken so softly that Charles did not quite catch it; however, professor Carter did try to call out to her again, and this time Charles did hear.

"Vi," he murmurs aloud ever so quietly.

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**(A/N) Author's Note:** The poll has closed and the Hobbit, eventual Legolas/OC, was chosen. The story is called _Jewel of the Valar_ and it has been posted, go check it out.

I apologize for the late update. *I was not happy with the chapter I originally posted up, it was short and kind of made Viola come off as a psycho, and I tried to add more to Charles' perspective on why he is still going to try to pursue her even after she almost went all coo-coo in his house. Hopefully I cleared up a bit of the mess with this newer version.


End file.
